A Simple Twist of Fate
by Bellsie805
Summary: He was drowning in the wind and her, while the silence cut the air more than any of his biting remarks every could.
1. Grace and Synchronicity

_They sat together in the park, _

_As the evening sky grew dark…_

He came here to think. Plus, this wasn't a medical mystery that needed to be solved…this was his hopelessly screwed up life. "General Hospital" could only do so much. It was dusk and he watched as a crew team sped by on the river. The grace of the synchronicity of the men's arms calmed him for reasons he didn't understand. Maybe it was because he rowed once. He had picked up an oar and been dared to row down the river after one of the fastest members of the crew team. He had lost, of course, and never rowed again. But the sport always intrigued him. Men moving in perfect motion to the commands of a lone person, the coxswain. He knew he could never do that no matter how hard he tried—he simply was not a "team player" and would fail at the sport. He was stubborn, but not stupid.

His iPod, the greatest invention since the GameBoy, played a menagerie of old rock classics. The Who, the Rolling Stones, Springsteen, Led Zeppelin…the music, like the Vicodin, was his empty therapy—his imaginary drugs. One earphone dangled by itself, suspended in space, while the other was firmly impressed in his ear. It was his own way of knowing who was having the audacity to sneak up and—gasp!—sit by him.

"Screw you," he mumbled as it played _Hotel California_ by the Eagles.

It was Stacey's favorite song and he had never removed it from the music player. The excuses varied on why he didn't just hit 'delete' or 'remove from playlist' when he had the damn thing hooked up to the computer: _it's not a horrible song, I'm too busy, I miss her…_

He didn't know the real reason why he never removed it, but chalked it up to a bad case of sentimentality and laziness. He would but up with it for now…

"Dr. House? Is this seat taken?" Cameron's voice cut through his soliloquy on Stacey and the still-playing _Hotel California_.

"Of course it's taken. My imaginary friend, Bob, is sitting there. He's pricklier than me on a _bad _day and doesn't take well to people sitting on him."

Her eyes flashed and she reached down and pulled the tightly implanted iBud out of his ear.

"Damn it, House…"

"Gosh, touchy-touchy. A simple, 'Please Dr. House, God of medicine, sex, and painkillers, please take out your earphone. Being nasty and forward wins no points with any man," he snidely scolded.

"We just got a new patient in. Female, fourteen, fainted. Brought in by her teacher who claims she fainted in front of him…"

"We doctors take cases for the strangest reasons, don't we? Chase, Foreman, and Wilson working on it?"

"Of course. I was just leaving, so they wanted me to inform…"

"_You_ volunteered to tell me. Rule #1: If you're going to be a liar, be a god one."

Her jaw clenched and he knew her teeth were grinding.

"Plus, even you knuckleheads could figure out a simple case of why a girl _fainted_ Anemia, exhaustion…please. You now have two options that I'm going to give you. Leave me alone or go away," he snapped.

She flung a lone ticket on his lap.

"Yes, you're right. Wilson took care of the girl. I needed an excuse to find you and I had an extra ticket," she bashfully told him.

JUMPIN' JAZZ! ONE NIGHT ONLY! ALL THE MASTERS PLAYED BY THE FINEST CONETEMPORARY ARTISTS IN NEW JERSEY! _This ticket only admits one adult_.

He fingered the ticket in his lab. Jazz…oh, how he could use some jazz.

"My car and I'm driving."

The smile on her face gave him an affirmative answer.

"Now, run along and get the cripple's stuff from his office like a good girl."

"Yes, sir!" She said with an excess amount of glee.

He watched as she almost skipped—skipped!—down the sidewalk back to the hospital.

"Fantastic," he muttered as he stuck the headphone back into his ear. 


	2. Moments of Insecurity and Empty Desires

**Author's Note:** I forgot a disclaimer in the first chapter and a few other things, so here they are now.  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything. Please don't sue me. My parents already can't afford me.

This is a **Cameron/House** ship. A/U at the moment, although, in my opinion, she's coming back.

Thanks for the **feedback**. I can take both praise and constructive criticism. It's a part of life. This is my first fan fiction story, so I'm still figuring out how to work the upload parts of the thing.

I'll try to** update** whenever possible, which will be quite often at the moment. They'll be short, but worth it.

The **song** is purely the work of the genius, Bob Dylan. _A Simple Twist of Fate_ is an amazing song. And now, on with the story…

_She looked at him and he felt a spark tingle to his bones_

'_Twas then he felt alone and wished that he'd gone straight_

_And watched out for a simple twist of fate_

The red convertible looked especially stunning as the first stars emerged from their cocoon of daylight. Cameron's face betrayed her shock as House opened the driver's door.

"I'm incredibly sorry, but drooling on or near the car is grounds for immediate removal from aforementioned car. And one word about how I'm trying to compensate for something, and I'll leave you here to fend for yourself," House warned her.

Cameron's mouth shut and she gingerly opened the door.

House fastened his seatbelt. He drove fast and didn't like to take chances with his own life, noting how precious it was to so few people, one of those fans was sitting next to him at this moment. He didn't know why he had decided to go along and knew he should have thought of an excuse. He was Dr. Gregory House for God's sake—jazz did not take precedent over his damn reputation.

"Ladies and Gentleman of this journey, please buckle your seatbelts. I don't have the money to pay for the insurance suits that are sure to follow if someone's neck snaps because of my incredibly fast and adept driving skills."

Cameron cast him a look that told him to shut up and he chuckled, while he watched her secure the belt.

"And here goes we," he mumbled under his breath.

Cameron didn't say anything as they pulled out of the garage. House worried that she might be thinking naughty thoughts about what she wanted to do to him—or maybe he wasn't so worried about _that_ situation.

It wasn't that he wouldn't sleep with her; he'd do that in a minute. It was the fact that he couldn't sleep with her and then leave her knowing she loved him. He was cold and callous and basked in those facts, but breaking hearts of widowed women was not something he wanted to start specializing in.

"So, Dr. House, how'd you get into jazz?" Cameron asked as he turned right.

_Don't ask me questions, Cameron, they lead to answers you don't want to hear_, he silently begged her. Instead of answering her question, he hand flicked on the radio to a classic rock station that was currently blasting Billy Joel's _Big Shot_.

"Dr. House?" She asked with a pleading tone in her voice.

His fingers drummed along to the music and he desperately tried to think of a biting remark or anything else he could possible say that would make her stop. He didn't want to tell her the truth and he knew she didn't want to hear it.

"I've always loved jazz, but I loved it even more so when Stacey and I listened to it together."

He could see the look of disappointment and confusion in her eyes. He smiled knowing as always that he was right. She didn't want to know the truth. He knew that she didn't know who Stacey was, but that it was a _woman's_ name. He had loved someone else.

"Stacey…?"

"Yes, and we did have sex. Daily. Sometimes twice a day. Good for the soul, you know? Or, perhaps you don't?"

"You're saying I'm a virgin? House, I cannot believe you…" she started.

"Well, I didn't invite a grouchy old man to come along to a jazz show now did I? You got what you wanted—me coming to this thing with you. Now could you shut the hell up so I can enjoy Mr. Joel?"

Her eyes burned into the side of his head.

"Don't make me take my eyes off the road. We don't need to have an accident now do we?"  
"Pull over."

He sneered.

"Why? Can't take a little teasing? Oh, Cameron, such a weak woman. Tsk, tsk," he reprimanded.

She set her jaw once again and started to turn her head. House looked over at her and she swiveled her head back around to look him dead in his clear, blue eyes.

She didn't say anything and didn't have to for him to understand. Her head turned to watch the speeding dark of the night and the blurry lights of the Princeton metropolitan speed by.

Her eyes had been filled with passion and lust, and _I want you, now_. He couldn't do this. He was drowning in the wind and her and the silence that now hung between them cut more than any of his biting remarks ever could. He should have told her to go home, or give the ticket to Wilson. He should have snapped at her to really _go away_. He should have walked away from her and saved himself. Should have. The decisions we make in the moments of insecurity and empty desire for something that exists in the phantom recesses of memory, he thought, are the ones we regret most.

He tilted his chin up and scratched at his graying beard. This was going to be a long night, especially if they were as he suspected—

Pitifully lost.


	3. The Dark Keeps Secrets We Cannot

**This is going somewhere—I promise.**

_They walked along by the old canal_

_A little confused, I remember well_

"Lost!" Cameron looked at him funny.

"Yes, of course. What you thought I meant the television program?"

"No, you live here for God's sake. How can you be lost? Is your social life that…"

She was interrupted (it seemed to be a pattern lately) as they both heard the thudding of something htat they both knew was related to the car.

"That's a flat tire," House said and maneuvered the car over to the side of the road. He surveyed their surroundgings.

This was not a particularly _good_ section of town, he could tell. Princeton, although a filthy rich area, had its flaws just like any other place. This was definetly it. There was dented and rusted cars around him, and sagging doorsteps on either side. The bricks of the houses looked old. Adornments were scarce on these residences and there were plastic chairs and grills strewn helter-skelter over the fading white porches.

He must have taken a rwrong turn during his reflection on the reasons he had gone with Cameron. He wanted to punch himself even more now. Kicking himself was out of the question, considering…

"I _know_ where we are," Cameron informed him, as she squinted off into the darkness.

He sighed and decided that he would have to rely on her to get them out of this mess. He shuddered at the thought. There goes that damn reputation, was his only concern.

"When I originally came here, I used to just drive aimlessly hours. I used to go through this section on the occasion. I didn't like it and stopped driving through here. Bad section of town, you know?"

"You do have a penchant for stating the obvious."

She ignored the comment.

"I spent a good amount of money on those tickets that we're not going to use, you do realize that, right? No, don't answer that. God, why don't I ever listen to anyone? They told me you'd be trouble," she tailed off quietly.

"For the record, I didn't want to come with _you_. I came to for the jazz. That's it, so get those stupid fairy tales out of your head. I'm not your proverbial prince in shining armor. I've been told I'm a pink, fluffy bunny with fangs, but that's up to some interpretation. Cameron, I honestly didn't think you were that stupid to believe that I'd wine and dine you and actually _want_ to go somewhere with you. I told you that the whole monster truck thing was _not a date_. English is the language of choice for you, is it not? Come on, get with the program."

He had hurt her like he intended. He didn't imagine hurting her enough so that she turned quickly and opened the door fo the car and started walking quickly away.

"Shit."

He got out of the car, cane in hand, and started to limp after her at a good pace. She was wearing Pucci stilettos—an obvious extravagance—with a black, frilly skirt, and bright green sequined tank top. She had also fled with her black blazer and was letting that hang limply over her shoulders. She moved quickly down the street and he followed as best as he could. Her pace increased; his pace increased.

Cameron had to stop, though, when she reached a crosswalk and the little light-up man was red. House caught up with her.

"Cameron, I don't like chasing people," he reprimanded.

"You just did," she quietly told him as she turned around.

"I couldn't let you get raped out here on the streets. I do have a conscience."

They looked at each other. Here in the dark, it did not matter that he was Dr. Gregory House nor that she was Dr. Allison Cameron and they were in a boss-underling positing. The dark hid those facts nicely. Even the streetlights could not bring back the certainties that the dark covered. It was night—they were here and fate was a harsh dictator.

And those two people, nameless, faceless, anonymous in the lonely, dark night, came together with a single touch of lips to lips and the first feeling of completeness either one had felt for a long time.

The dark kept their secret.


	4. Lonely, Empty, and Meaningless

_And stopped into a strange hotel with a neon burnin' bright. _

_He felt the heat of the night hit him like a freight train _

_Moving with a simple twist of fate. _

She broke away from the kiss first. It wasn't because she wanted to, he felt, but because she needed to.

"House…your car…"

He whirled around and followed her eyes as they both watched two thugs, who had just apparently hot-wired his car, drive off with it, flat tire and all.

There was no snide remark that would make two street-hardened hoodlums give his mechanical baby back. He watched as it disappeared down the street. His hand grasped his cane even harder.

"House, I'm so sorry. It's all my fault," Cameron told him and grasped his upper arm.

He tugged away from her and started walking down the street. He wasn't going to make it home tonight, that he knew. He needed to find a taxi (didn't look like any hung out in this part of town) or a little motel or place to stay. He wouldn't sleep outside and he didn't want Cameron to follow. The kiss was a fluke—a lapse in judgment, intoxication by the night, a terrible twist of fate…

"Take another step and I'll scream," Cameron threatened from not five feet behind him.

"Why in God's name would you do that?"

"House, you know _why_. There's a motel straight down this block. I have my credit card and we can stay the night. Give me this, please?" She begged, but her voice was oddly free of neediness.

"I can't love you," he told her resignedly.

"And I can't love you," she replied.

"So, it's sex for both of us? Lonely, empty, and meaningless?"

His blue eyes fixed on hers and they exchanged a look of exhaustion. He was exhausted of fighting with everyone around him; she was exhausted of trying to love a man who would never love her.

"Lonely, empty, and meaningless," she whispered back.

He nodded his head and she came up to his side. They started walking again, together this time.

They made it to the motel, and, even at the late hour they managed to get a room. It was the typical, seedy motel out of a B-movie, but neither of them cared. He quietly undressed with an air of melancholy about him. He always had that aura around him—he could have just won the fight for a patient's life, but that didn't mean he had to be _happy_. She undressed equally defeated. Neither one of them wanted this. They lied to each other and their selves. He made his mind tell his heart lies so it wouldn't destroy him. She lied to herself that this wasn't pity sex on his part. Oh, how the little light in the room illuminated their feelings so.

It was she who took charge during their poor attempt at 'making love'. It was just as they had agreed—lonely, empty, and meaningless. There were two bodies in the bed, but God knows that their souls wished to be somewhere else.

House listened to her heartbeat as she worked on feminine magic on his decaying body. He wished he had met her years ago, when he wasn't so jaded and bastardly. He wished he was not a coward who couldn't say, _I love you_. He wished that he hadn't become lost. He wished he had stayed in the hospital; it wouldn't have put her in this position.

She deserved better than this, but he wouldn't admit that to her. The low thread-count of the sheets brought no comfort to him. This was not how it should be.

"Cameron…stop," he told her.

He knew she wanted this more than he did, because she would be able to talk herself into the feeling that this _was_ something. She didn't want to stop, and the tears streaming down her eyes confirmed his suspicion.

"Stop. I don't want this and neither do you."

She rolled over to her side, letting him view only her backside. He could hear her small sniffles in the bad lighting of the room.

He got out of the bed and hobbled around to the side on which she was facing. He sat down on the edge of the bed and she slowly backed up to give him room.

There were no words exchanged, as his thumb wiped the tears off her face. Her eyes slowly closed from fatigue and too many unnecessary feelings. He lifted up the cheap comforter and nudged her over a tad. He climbed underneath the sheets and she snuggled close to him.

Finally, they both drifted off to sleep…

Together.


	5. A Woman's Touch and Dignity

**Author's Note: **A couple chapters still to go…three or so?…thanks to all the wonderful reviewers. I love reading all the reviews I get. They make my day.

_A saxophone someplace far off played_

_As she was walkin' by the arcade._

_As the light bust through a beat-up shade where he was wakin' up,_

_She dropped a coin into the cup of a blind man at the gate_

_And forgot about a simple twist of fate._

The sad sound of the saxophone drifted its way slowly through the sealed shades that hung over the motel room window. House's eyes cracked open. The mantra going through his head was made up of one word: _Vicodin_.

He looked around the room for his pants and didn't see them on the floor where he had left them. He swiveled his head towards the window, and, out of his peripheral vision, he could see the orange-tinged-amber bottle. He lunged for it with the ferocity of a cat jumping on a mouse and took off the white lid without hesitation. There was no water (or alcohol, for that matter, which would have explained his pounding headache), but he didn't care. Taking pills without water or liquid was an art form that he had mastered.

The throbbing pain started to lessen, and with it, went the mantra. But as quickly as it left, logic and another thought replaced his need for the painkillers—_Cameron_.

She was gone from the motel room and he was pretty damn sure that he had not had the state of mind to _fold his clothes _and lay them on the nightstand and stand the Vicodin bottle up directly next to his apparel. As he gazed at the clothes and the bottle, he noticed the small piece of notebook paper folded up and tucked in between the economical clock and his pants.

He reached for the note and slowly opened it. He cursed himself for not waking up and leaving the room first. She took both her dignity and his with her when she left.

There were no markings on the back of the paper, but he turned it around and saw that Cameron's neat handwriting filled the page. He started to read with dread in his heart, worried that she'd take this to Cuddy or Vogler and scream sexual harassment. He didn't care how much she was in love with him—he hadn't given her what she wanted.

_House—_

_I wanted to leave you a sappy, sentimental note and almost did as I watched you sleep, but in the end, I took that one with me and left you this one. _

_I won't be at the hospital in the morning. I'm leaving, and you can ship my stuff to my apartment. I think that information is in my file. I got a job offer a couple days ago from a distinguished hospital in Philly, and, I had forgot about it until waking in this hotel room. We remember the strangest things at the strangest times._

_I think it'd be best if I left. It's too complicated, both you and I know that. Can you imagine it at work? Foreman and Chase are already on me about having the 'hots' for you. They would _know_ we did something, and I'm sure if they were too dense to figure it out, Wilson would see the difference, however slight, between you and I. _

_House, perhaps we'll meet someday again. We were brought together here for reasons that are beyond both of us. And, dear, please, don't lose that lovely edge you have about you. How else would I be able to recognize you when we're both old and forgetting the glories of youth (well, at least when I am. You're already there.) _

_Love,_

_Allison Cameron_

_P.S. I had to fold your clothes. The woman in me, I guess._

He stared at the paper. Yes, he should have left first. His dignity wouldn't have abandoned him so. And God, he would have been able to sneak in that last snarky comment that she had beat him to. He reached for his cell phone.

The numbers he dialed were familiar and it only took three rings. Although the clock read with some sense of finality 5:19 a.m., he knew he would answer. Wilson always did.

"Pick me up at the Coors Motel. I'll explain when you get here."

He flicked the phone closed and laid back on the bed. He needed some time to fully absorb the events of the past twelve hours.

The wind gently whipped around her. She had left after writing him the note and folding his clothes. She had to fold his clothes. By cleaning up the room it had let her touch something that belonged to him, smell his scent, and sort out her mind, which was cluttered with too many thoughts. She left quickly and quietly, slipping out the door. She had ended up walking down the streets back to her apartment.

She walked along as fast as she could—House was right to dislike this area. It was bad news and she was a pretty good target for anyone who wanted a target. She figured, though, that not many people would be apt to roam the streets at such an early hour.

She walked underneath an overhang and saw a few homeless people lining the walls of the building of which the overhang extended out from. They were pitiful, and, right now, she felt just as worn-out as they appeared. One man, awake and looking straight ahead towards the street, uttered some mumbled words as Cameron passed and held out his black-gloved hand. _Money_ was the vocalized plea of the man. _Help me_ was the silent one.

Cameron, feeling his pain in the early morning, stopped and dug in her pockets. She usually carried money on her and she managed to find a five for the man. She handed it to him.

"Thank you. Philly awaits," he coherently told her.

Cameron drew back. Was this man talking to her still? Or to someone else? She backed away and kept walking.

"PHILLY AWAITS!" He screamed after her.

She broke into a run and her recently regained strong demeanor was close to breaking again. She stopped when she thought she was far enough away and caught her breath. Her stilettos were killing her feet, but the man had scared her and unbalanced her. She knew he had no idea that she was going to Philly on the first train she could catch. So much for doing a good deed. Saving patients, screwing House, and salvaging money for homeless men on the streets…when would she learn that her niceness was probably going to be her downfall?

She had a fear of flying, so she comforted and calmed herself by thinking about the train schedule. She knew a train left from the Hamilton Train Station today sometime that was bound for Philadelphia, or a layover that could get her somewhere to Philly. She needed to get out of Princeton as soon as she could. She could not stay here. She'd come back in a few days or weeks to clean out her apartment. She'd get a hotel room in the City of Brotherly Love and then go from there. Yes, that'd be what she would do. She needed to get back to her apartment, call the train station, get herself a ticket, and…

"Cameron!"


	6. Batman and Robin

_He woke up, the room was bare_

_He didn't see her anywhere._

_He told himself he didn't care, pushed the window open wide,_

_Felt an emptiness inside to which he just could not relate_

_Brought on by a simple twist of fate._

He watched the minutes tick away on his clock. He was sitting on a chair, the only piece of furniture in the room other than the bed. Where in God's name was Wilson? He had called him half an hour ago.

_He should have been here by now_, House thought to himself.

Fidgeting with his cane, he decided to get up and open the curtains. Yes, darkness was his friend, but he was starting to feel suffocated by it at the moment. He needed light and air.

He walked to the window and opened the shade, gazing around at the outside world. He scanned the streets for Wilson's car, but saw no sign of it. All he needed was a small favor and Wilson couldn't even do that for him. No wonder why Amanda threw him out of the house all the time…

There were three sharp raps on the door and House grumbled.

"God, I didn't know there was room service at such a crappy motel," he murmured to the empty room.

He dragged himself to the door and put his ear on it.

"House, open up. It's Wilson."

He unlatched the deadbolt and opened the door.

"It's nice that you showed up. I really appreciate it," House told him with a noticeable _lack_ of appreciation.

"I'm not here to pick you up. I'm here to tell you what a bastard you are. This is getting old, House. Real old."

House turned his back and sat down on the chair he had just recently vacated. Ah, lecture time. It was one of his favorite reasons to bug Wilson out of bed in the early morning. It got him a rare gem of a speech of morality out of the philandering Wilson. House did so love hypocrisy. He watched his friend and noted Wilson's angry look as he stood in front of him, with his hands on his hips.

"You'll never guess who I met walking down the street. You didn't screw her did you, House?" Wilson seethed.

"No, I thought you would do a nice job of that. You always do well with the damaged ones. They seem to be more _giving_. 'Oh, poor little Dr. Cameron. I'll take you home and show you what love is really like. I'll be tender and kind…'"

"Oh, do shut up! I'll leave you here. I took Cameron home, yes. But just because I'm a decent human being who wouldn't let her be _raped_ out there on the street doesn't mean I wanted to get into her pants!"

"Yes it does."

"House, I couldn't do that to her."

"Or me, but that goes unsaid. How would Amanda have taken that? She would have found that you went to pick me up, but actually went back to another _woman's_ apartment. Gosh, they do get so touchy about those things. Tsk, tsk."

"Amanda and I are none of your business."

"So watching my best friend's marriage fall apart is just my nightly entertainment?"

"Stop changing the subject."

"Would you have slept with her, my dear friend? Did the thought flit across your mind?"

"Why do you care so much? House, she loves you! How blind can you be! Last time I checked, being a 'cripple' doesn't impair your sight. You love her, too. I see it."

House looked at him dejectedly. Wilson was right and House wasn't going to lie to his friend. It was no use arguing—Wilson had taken a bit of law school before medical school and no matter how much House's comments stung, Wilson could always bounce back. That's why they were friends.

"Where's she going? She said Philly…"

"Leaving this morning, my friend. She already reserved the tickets on the earliest train out. I'm sorry, House," Wilson told him sympathetically.

"When's the train leaving?" House questioned.

"6:30."

House looked at his watch. It read 5:57.

"Wilson, we have to go the station. Are we gonna make it, Robin?"

"Of course, Batman. The Batmobile never fails."

House, in a rare gesture, let a small smile creep onto his face. The small spat had been forgotten and they were united in their goal. Wilson wanted to find House a woman—he was tired of caring for House and knew he needed a woman's touch. House followed Wilson as he walked out of the room.

He had chased after her once. And he was about to do it again.


	7. His Sarcasm Hides His Tortured Soul

**Author's Note:** And this is the end. I'm not sure how much I like the ending, but endings have never been easy for me to write.

_He hears the ticking of the clocks _

_And walks along with a parrot that talks, _

_Hunts her down by the waterfront docks where the sailors all come in. _

_Maybe she'll pick him out again, how long must he wait _

_Once more for a simple twist of fate. _

Wilson smoothly pulled the car into an empty parking space at the train station. House hobbled out of the car as quickly as he could. Wilson followed behind him.

House stuck out his cane and pushed open the glassdoor. The inside terminal was nearly empty, save for a few zealous businessmen, lawyers with early court dates in other cities, and a few other sundry people scattered throughout the spacious room. He scanned the room looking for her, but didn't see her.

Wilson nudged him gently in the arm and pointed to a _People_ magazine cover that was suspended in the air by two human hands on each side. House noticed that the hands gripping the magazine were turning white with the force of the grip on the glossy paper. He looked at Wilson and he smiled at him. _Go ahead,_ was the silent nod.

House left Wilson and he limped to Cameron, who was sitting on a chair in the middle of a row of them. He sat down in the chair next to her.

"Cameron, listen…"  
She lowered her magazine and House realized that this wasn't Cameron. Yes, the brown ponytail was the same, but it wasn't the face of the women he wanted.

"Um, I'm sorry. I think you have the wrong person," she commented gently.

"Yeah, I'm sorry," he responded and got up quickly.

Wilson looked at him sympathetically from where he was stationed in the corner. House shrugged and looked around the room one more time.

"The 6:30 train bound for Philadelphia, Pennsylvania will be leaving in five minutes. Please collect your belongings and be ready to board," the loudspeaker blared.

House put his head down and shuffled over to where Wilson was standing in the corner. As soon as he got over to where Wilson was standing, Wilson shot him another sympathetic glance.

"Let's go," Wilson told him gently.

House shook his head affirmatively and looked around the station one more time. His eyes landed on a door opening in the corner. It was the bathroom, he decided, the _women's_ bathroom and emerging from it was Cameron.

Her eyes locked on his and she almost dashed back into the sanctuary of the toilet-filled room, but he stopped her.

"Cameron, we need to talk," he told her gruffly.

The other people barely paid any attention to them as House issued his command from the other side of the room.

"No, no we don't," she told him audibly.

"You are not leaving. That'd be foolish. Don't be noble. Be human," he pleaded with her with an overlying tone of sarcasm in his voice.

"For once in your life can you be sincere about something?" She asked.

There was no Wilson and businessmen and trains surrounding them. There was House and there was Cameron. There was love and there was hate and neither of them wanted to confront what they knew was the truth.

"The 6:30 train to Philadelphia is preparing to leave. Please start boarding now."

People started moving around and getting their baggage. They moved around House who stood in the middle of the room, but he never broke his eye contact with Cameron.

"I have to go," she informed him briskly as she broke their eye link and started to gather her stuff.

He walked up to her and grabbed her arm to stop her from moving.

"At the end of the day, when they asked me if I loved you, I had to say no. I did it for you and myself. And if you leave because you believe that, well, then you're a self-sacrificing fool," he told her through clenched teeth.

Her eyes would not meet his and started to fill. His heart started to ache. She was going to leave and he'd go home and wish that he were not a bastard who used his sarcasm to hide a tortured soul.

"I have to go," she repeated.

"No, no you don't."

He grabbed her upper arms and pressed her to him. She dropped the suitcase that she had been holding. His lips found hers and they gave her every incentive to stay. A lone clapping of hands sounded throughout the now empty train terminal.

"Wilson…" House started, breaking the kiss for only a mere second.

"This…is…beautiful. Where's the camera when you need it?" Wilson comically sniffled as he watched his best friend find a small bit of happiness.

"It's not supposed to happen like this, is it? Aren't we supposed to be floundering in our own misery?" Cameron asked.

"Who says this can't be un-miserable? Last time I checked, you thought religion was nonexistent, and thus that negates a higher power having anything to do with this."

She smiled and both of them knew that she wouldn't be leaving on the train to Philly.

And he knew that the wine he was going to use to assuage his grief, would not be drunken alone.

He had come to get her, and now, they would leave the station…

Together.

_**End**_


End file.
